The work day had gone smoothly, and uneventfully. He wasn't ever lonely when he was working, and if he really wanted some kind of purely physical outlet there were all kinds of options available, ranging from the free-use options the company kept on hand (of course) to potentially borrowing another Companion with a relevant clause in their contract.
But he was self-aware enough to know that he didn't want just that.
For now, at least, he wanted Monty, specifically, whatever that meant, and trying to cover that up by seeking out an impersonal release as a poor substitute wasn't going to help.
Especially not if Monty was considering dissolving their contract.
He does his best to shake off the odd melancholy during the drive home from work. After all, if Monty was dissatisfied with their relationship, it was well within their rights to invoke any of the standard no-fault cessation clauses within the contract to terminate the contract before it reached term. They were rote, boilerplate clauses that were included as a matter of course in Patron-Companion contracts - in fact, removing them was very much frowned upon and would often trigger an exhaustive audit - and Justin had never had an issue with them before.
Of course, he'd never had cause to terminate a contract early before either, and he and Monty had already been together for over three years now, far longer than the majority of his previous contracts.
The elevator door opens into the quiet elegant solitude of the common living area, and his feet automatically take him towards the suite of rooms that had been set aside for Monty, this time not bothering with his usual courteous knock. One of options he usually offered Companions was a stipend to organize their personal space however they liked (with a corresponding decrease in direct compensation of course), and since in the past he usually spent time with them in the playroom or common areas rather than within their own personal spaces (as a kind of professional courtesy and acknowledgement of boundaries, unless they had explicitly declined them in the contract), he didn't usually pay much attention to what they did, simply authorizing the deductions from the stipend automatically.
It takes a moment for him to register all the changes, to connect them to the recent spate of charges he'd been asked to sign off (nothing individually exorbitant, but curious in aggregate), and then his eyes fall to Monty, utterly transformed and waiting for him in welcome in their completely refurnished room.
Well.
Never let it be said that Justin Baruch didn't know how to appreciate a gift.
"It's good to be home," he replies, low and warm, and he walks forward, reaches out to run his fingers through Monty's newly long hair, cupping their cheek, a more domestic kind of feeling settling down throughout his body.
"How was your day, sweetheart?" He asks, feeling out the situation. "Did you miss me?" A beat, and then, more genuinely than he expected, "I missed you, you know."
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But he was self-aware enough to know that he didn't want just that.
For now, at least, he wanted Monty, specifically, whatever that meant, and trying to cover that up by seeking out an impersonal release as a poor substitute wasn't going to help.
Especially not if Monty was considering dissolving their contract.
He does his best to shake off the odd melancholy during the drive home from work. After all, if Monty was dissatisfied with their relationship, it was well within their rights to invoke any of the standard no-fault cessation clauses within the contract to terminate the contract before it reached term. They were rote, boilerplate clauses that were included as a matter of course in Patron-Companion contracts - in fact, removing them was very much frowned upon and would often trigger an exhaustive audit - and Justin had never had an issue with them before.
Of course, he'd never had cause to terminate a contract early before either, and he and Monty had already been together for over three years now, far longer than the majority of his previous contracts.
The elevator door opens into the quiet elegant solitude of the common living area, and his feet automatically take him towards the suite of rooms that had been set aside for Monty, this time not bothering with his usual courteous knock. One of options he usually offered Companions was a stipend to organize their personal space however they liked (with a corresponding decrease in direct compensation of course), and since in the past he usually spent time with them in the playroom or common areas rather than within their own personal spaces (as a kind of professional courtesy and acknowledgement of boundaries, unless they had explicitly declined them in the contract), he didn't usually pay much attention to what they did, simply authorizing the deductions from the stipend automatically.
It takes a moment for him to register all the changes, to connect them to the recent spate of charges he'd been asked to sign off (nothing individually exorbitant, but curious in aggregate), and then his eyes fall to Monty, utterly transformed and waiting for him in welcome in their completely refurnished room.
Well.
Never let it be said that Justin Baruch didn't know how to appreciate a gift.
"It's good to be home," he replies, low and warm, and he walks forward, reaches out to run his fingers through Monty's newly long hair, cupping their cheek, a more domestic kind of feeling settling down throughout his body.
"How was your day, sweetheart?" He asks, feeling out the situation. "Did you miss me?" A beat, and then, more genuinely than he expected, "I missed you, you know."